Liberté Foncée

CHAPTER FIVE: THE SECOND OATH

Karl Marx once said that, "religion is the opiate of the masses." While in some cases this may be true, many could argue that political power quite similar. Certainly in the world in the year 2117, it was more addictive than most known drugs.

In a small number of years, the Death Eaters, Freedom Fighters, and Aurors had increased dramatically. What before may not have been called a war, exactly, was now just that. In an insanely short amount of time, the number of deaths - homicide, suicide, natural, and unexplained - and missing persons had nearly doubled.

The world seemed cold and colorless, now. The sky was cloudy more often. Temperatures were at least five degrees lower, on average, than they had been half a decade ago.

The world was getting ready for dramatic change, if you listened to all those spiritual "weirdoes", many of which had long since been locked away in insane asylums (which, incidentally, were rapidly filling at a greater speed than ever before).

Though they could hardly ignore the fact themselves, many chose not to.

*

YEAR 2117

Knockturn Alley was, after over a century of being overrun by dark witches and wizards, even more derelict, filthy and foreboding than it had been in the time that the Boy Who Lived first set foot there. No matter how dilapidated it was, however, the alley was still a somewhat popular place for dark wizards to sit around, hidden behind their hoods and cloaked in shadows, drink and exchange information in hushed and suspicious voices.

One might wonder what business Ayden Ryan, age nineteen, was doing walking down the street of Knockturn Alley on the crisp morning of September fourteenth.

To the untrained eye it could appear that Ayden knew where he was going or that he felt comfortable walking the dark, damp, winding street. Anyone who knew him, however, would notice the signs that he was on edge almost immediately.

The slightest of frowns looked as though it had been cemented onto his face. Every few seconds he glanced up from beneath his ragged fringe, as though checking to make sure no one was watching him. Otherwise, he walked slightly stooped, eyes on the cobblestone road before him, concentrating on the moss oozing from beneath.

Finally, he came to a halt in front of a dingy pub. A sign hanging above the door, swinging slightly and creaking in the breeze, identified the establishment as, "Blackflame Tavern; since 1789 AD."

A bell chimed somewhere as Ayden stepped inside. The door slammed behind him with a heavy thud, which made him jump. It took a moment for Ayden's eyes to adjust to the light, which was even dimmer than outside on the street. He stood there for a moment, surveying the room and noting with some disgust the few decorations on the walls, which looked like what only the most open-minded of people could call art - small sculptures carved and assembled of what looked like bone. Ayden chose not to ponder whether it was that of animals or something else.

He walked slowly towards the back of the room, wondering how he was supposed to know the person he was looking for once he saw him or her. Just as he realized that the answer to this question was really imperative to what he was doing here and began to panic a bit, a hand reached out of a booth and grabbed his arm.

Ayden spun around to look upon the old man holding onto his robes, a mixed look of concentration and triumph on his weathered face. "You," the man croaked. "You seek knowledge."

Ayden stepped back and eased into the opposite side of the booth. The old man released his arm. "You can tell me what I need to know?"

"Perhaps." The man leered at him. His appearance was frightening. His hair was long, grey, and matted; his beard was scraggly. The robes that hung loosely off his skeletal frame were nothing more than rags that were so covered with grime that their original color was only to be fathomable. His eyes had a milky quality to them - a thin film of white stretched across them - over the pale blue. Ayden watched as the man groped wildly for his tankard on the scarred tabletop, spilling a great deal of ale once he finally got hold of it. This man was blind. "How did you know to come here?"

"Most everyone knows about you," Ayden replied, trying to sound casual despite his uneasiness. "Loads of people think you're a myth, though."

"Do they, now?" The living corpse cackled. Ayden said nothing. "And you believed, did you?"

"I had to see."

"Because you want to learn something. You seek information."

"Er, yeah." You're the all-knowing one. Would I be anywhere near here otherwise?

"You've come to the right place, boy. What is it you want to know?"

"Well..." Ayden glanced around and lowered his voice. "The Death Eaters. How do you join them? How does all that work?"

The man grinned, showing off all three of his teeth, and in his hoarse voice began to speak.

*

Ayden walked slowly behind the Death Eater leading him down a long, stone passage. For the millionth time he assured himself that everything was fine, this would help protect his friends from what had happened to others he cared about.

Others.

Like Mark. His brother, who was now gone. He was dead, because the Death Eaters had killed him. It seemed impossible to Ayden what he was about to do, knowing that. And Violet. Violet was gone too, and most likely because of the same reason. Granted, it had never been confirmed she was dead. She was just a name on a list now. Another name somewhere in a file cabinet in the Ministry's office of Magical Law Enforcement. Someone never expected to be seen again. No one doubted that she was all ready gone for good the evening she disappeared. Ayden's friends had struggled to convince him and themselves otherwise, but Ayden had known. Violet never would have missed wishing him a happy birthday, no matter if she couldn't get there to say it in person.

He shook these thoughts away, and concentrated on the back of the Death Eater before him. Calm down. Breathe. One, two, three; one, two, three...

Their steps echoed in the corridor as they walked, the Death Eater stepping confidently and briskly. Ayden could tell the cloaked figure ahead of him knew this place well, and had walked this same route many times. Probably for the same purpose, as well. He swallowed hard. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the voice in his head which was shouting at him to turn around, get out of this place, and run like mad in the opposite direction, as though the devil and all his concubines were chasing him.

Too soon, however, this option was taken from him. The Death Eater stopped at a door, opened it, and stood aside, plainly waiting for Ayden to go in. Brown eyes watched him from behind the mask worn by all Voldemort supporters.

The room was huge. A great chamber the size of a Muggle gymnasium, with just barely more the amount of furniture or other such objects that normally fill rooms that one would find in the approximate middle of the Sahara desert. In the very center of the room stood a stone table - more of a small, round column than a table, really - with a large silver bowl decorated with engravings of serpents placed atop it. Black and silver flames danced in the bowl.

Ayden stared. It wasn't just that he was rather unused to seeing fire in colors other than the traditional reds, oranges, and yellows; there was just something about the sight - the whole room - that felt strange.

No... it wasn't the room. It was what he knew would be happening inside of it. A shiver ran down his spine.

"You know, before you decide you really want to join us, I think you should consider what it's like under that mask. Jesus."

Ayden spun around. The Death Eater had removed the mask, and was standing there, face flushed, smiling at him.

"Er..." Ayden wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm serious. It gets hard to breathe under there after a while." The woman looked to be several years his senior; perhaps the age Mark would be if he were still alive today. Or Violet. Ayden shook away these thoughts, and she gave him a smile that was incredibly familiar from somewhere... he didn't know where... it was just within reach, but he couldn't grasp it.

But the woman didn't give him time. She stepped swiftly toward the table in the center of the room and reached inside her robes for a wand. "We never used to do things this way," the woman said after a moment, more to herself than Ayden. "We didn't give the mark and the oath on the same day...and it was the Dark Lord who gave his servants the mark. Then people started leaving. Things had to change..."

She snapped out of her reverie, and smiled at Ayden. "You know once you join, you can never leave."

It wasn't so much a question, as it was a statement, but Ayden nodded. "Isn't that obvious?"

"You'd be surprised how many people thing they can just waltz out of service whenever they feel like it." Beat. "Let's get this over with."

She instructed Ayden to pull back his sleeve, exposing his inner arm to her.

"What's your name?" she asked, while she waved her wand over the bowl of flames. She acted like a doctor administering a sure-to-be-painful shot to a four-year-old - casual questions, small talk... just enough to distract him from what was happening.

Ayden told her his name, and waited for her to reply with her own, but she kept silent. "And you are...?" he prompted.

"Adrienne. Adrienne Cassada." There was a pause, and then she motioned to the table. "Ready?"

"Er, yeah." Ayden wasn't quite sure what he was getting himself into just then, but he knew that joining the Death Eaters meant one thing, and that was all he cared about : there was at least a minimal chance his friends were safer this way. There was less chance that if he was with the enemy, they would strike his friends. Or at least so he hoped.

Besides, it wasn't like he truly believed in this. It was as if he really thought the Death Eaters had the right idea here. He had been raised to know they were wrong. After all, when he was only fourteen he and his friends had agreed to fight against them, hadn't they?

These thoughts were interrupted by a searing pain in his arm. He yelped, and Adrienne laughed.

"Jesus. You should warn a person before you do that."

"I asked you if you were ready, didn't I?" Adrienne was grinning.

Ayden glanced at his arm instead of replying. There, branded on his skin, was the Dark Mark. Lord Voldemort's symbol, and he had it tattooed on his arm for all eternity. A shudder ran down his spine.

"Ready to meet the boss?" Adrienne asked cheerfully.

Ayden would have liked to say no.

*

"Has he taken the oath?"

"No, my lord. Your instructions were to only -"

"I am very well aware of what my instructions were. However," the Dark Lord smirked, "some of my followers have considered them above my orders in the past."

Adrienne said nothing.

"Very well. Proceed," Voldemort's voice was cold. Ice in intangible form.

Adrienne motioned for Ayden to touch the mark as he repeated the words she spoke in a bored tone, as though she'd already said them one too many times. Ayden wondered how many times she'd done this. How many times had she helped bind people to the Death Eaters, dealing them a new hand in the poker game of life?

Finally, when it was over, Adrienne gave him a pointed look. It was plain to Ayden what he had to do now. It was what he dreaded the most - the one part of this whole ordeal that made him cringe. The biggest lie he would have to tell.

He turned to Voldemort and bowed deeply. "My Lord," he murmured.

*

September fourteenth was Shane's birthday. As with every birthday in their group since that night back in the winter of 2112, the four celebrated together over dinner.

That night was the first that Ayden felt too exhausted to meet up with his friends since the few nights following Mark's death. He wearily made his way in direction of Shane's flat.

When he was just across the street, he stopped dead.

No, not tonight. Any night but tonight, please...

But the burning on his arm persisted. His master was calling him. Ayden closed his eyes. Damnit, this was not happening.

He stood there for a few minutes, not moving, willing the smoldering on his arm to go away.

It didn't.

Just then, he saw a shadow move toward the window, ready to pull back the curtain to peer outside, looking for him.

He Disapparated.

*

He stumbled through his front door some time past one in the morning, collapsing on his couch.

The Death Eater meeting had been long and tedious, with much detailed discussion an up and coming massacre planned for later that week at Kings Cross station. Ayden made a mental note to keep his friends from taking any trains to anywhere that day.

His friends.

He sat up bolt right, suddenly awake. Merlin, they must be going mad.

He got to his feet and headed for the Muggle telephone on the kitchen counter. His hand shook as he dialed, and then waited.

Ring. Ring. Click. "Hello?" Rayne sounded rushed.

Ayden hesitated for a minute. "Rayne, it's me."

"Ayden? My god, where have you been?"

"I, er, got tied up. Listen, you all didn't worry too much about where I was, did you?"

"Are you kidding? We've been going ballistic! Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine. Look, I'd rather not talk about it. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

"No, it's not all right, damnit! Do you have any idea how up tight we've been all night?"

"Rayne, come on. I'm sorry. I would've called or something. I didn't get a chance. It was important."

"More important than your best friend's birthday?"

Ayden swallowed. "Rayne, I've got to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow, I promise."

"Ayden, wait -"

Click.

Ayden closed his eyes. What was he doing? Even he didn't know. He reached listlessly for a bottle on the counter beside the phone, and took a long drink. The alcohol traveled down his throat, burning. It felt good. He took another gulp. By and by, the bottle emptied and his sense dulled slightly.

How much had he changed today? How different would his life be from now on, and just because of this one day? And not just his life. Already it was apparent that this would greatly impact his relations with his friends and the people he cared about. He wondered if he would be doing this if Mark hadn't died and Violet hadn't gone missing. Would he still be so paranoid about losing his friends that he would go to these lengths for what was completely uncertain protection for them?

Ironically, it appeared he might already have started losing them.

It was only later, as he lay on the couch almost asleep but not quite, that he realized blearily that Rayne hadn't called him back.